Thorns
by Montley
Summary: The life of a princess is hardly the glamour that it appears to be, and Hermione Granger is stuck in that life, wishing for more than anything to get out. Then she learns of her betrothal to a man she doesn't know named Tom Gaunt. Strange things begin occuring, and Tom discovers the magic deep inside her, eager to release it and perfect it. (Completely AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! This story is completely AU, ignores canon completely. I know this is different from what I usually write, but I really love the pairing and I hope that all of you will too (even though it's very different). **

**Enjoy!**

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Thorns

By Montley

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There is no daylight in the sky at the time she is forced to awake every single day to drawn blinds, closed doors and pitch-black darkness. The thudding on her door and the call of her name at exactly the same time every morning forces her to resign from her blissful dreams, where she is free, and open her eyes.

She hated being a princess.

It was horrible, detestable, repulsive, insufferable, unbearable, vile, and most of all abominable. Every day she wished that her soul had latched onto a different body besides her own.

Then the maids unlocked the barred door leading to her room, and Hermione grumbled. She turned her body to face the door and wished that they would leave her in peace one morning, and that suddenly she would be a peasant girl, living life the way she planned it to go. The maids tried to walk through the doorway after it was opened and unlocked, but it was as though there was a force field in their way, forbidding them entrance. The spectacle greatly amused Hermione, who barely had any joy in her boring humdrum of a life.

"Princess!" one of the maids named Violetta shrieked. Hermione opened her mouth to speak back, but the frazzled look on Violetta's face entertained her mind too much.

"Please, Hermione, let us in, it's only our duty," another maid said in a sweet tone, and she turned her head to glance at her. It was a maid named Mariella, who was practically her best friend in the castle and whom she had a soft spot for. She and the other maids kept backing up and attempted repeatedly to go through the doorway.

"It's not like I'm preventing you," she mumbled in return and faced the window once more, seeing the royal blue curtains blocking the little sunshine that existed.

"We can't get in!" she called, and suddenly a jumble of noises was heard by Hermione, and she saw the three maids on top of the other on the floor, and she let out a giggle.

"How in the world did you three manage that?" she questioned with a laugh. One of the maids gave her a disgruntled look as they piled off the other. Muttering, they headed to different parts of the room, Violetta started to prepare the day's clothes, another named Stella drew a warm bath, and the third, Mariella, prepared her vanity, which was Hermione's least favorite part about the morning. Her hair was bushy since the day she was born, and it was pure torture having the maids brush it. They tried to make it look in their opinion of 'nice,' while Hermione was just fine with running her fingers through it a few times, it's not like anyone would see her anyway.

"Come Miz, for baff," Stella beckoned, and Hermione regretfully left her warm and toasty duvet. Stella was a maid who had difficulty speaking since she was a little child, as her father had ignored her problems and beat her senseless practically every day until Stella was rescued by a neighboring villager. Hermione's father, the king, took pity on Stella and had hired her with full pay.

Stella took off Hermione's clothes and shoved her inside the tub without any care. She always felt uncomfortable under the maid's gaze while she was in the nude. If she was not a princess, this would not have to happen; she would be able to bathe herself instead. The maids slowly got her dressed and ready for the day, even though she was fully capable of doing it herself, and then escorted her to breakfast, followed by one of the castle's many knights whose faces were always obscured.

Her father smiled at her as she entered the dining room, as he always did, and like Hermione always did, she did not return it. Her mother did not notice her entrance, but she was focusing on herself, as usual. Hermione took her normal spot at the long mahogany table and waited for her father to predictably start the morning prayer, as their family was very religious.

"Name of the Father, Son, Holy Spirit, amen," he began when both Hermione's eyes and her mother's laid on him, and they all did the sign of the cross together. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. In his name, my God, have mercy. Amen."

Hermione sighed after the prayer was over, and Stella rushed over to pile food onto her plate, which she could easily do herself, but no doubt her mother would scold her for doing so. The maid never put any of the good food on her plate, but only the 'healthy' ones to keep her figure that a princess must have in order to be 'respected'; they were foods that caused her to wish to vomit as she would have preferred sausage, hash browns, omelets, the good food that her father hogged.

"Margaret," her father said, calling her mother's attention. "The Weasley family is coming for lunch and a game of croquet today."

"Lovely," her mother replied without a glimmer of a smile. "I've been missing Lady Molly."

"Are Lord Ronald and Lady Ginevra attending as well?" Hermione asked hopefully. They were two of her best friends, and she missed them dearly. She would not go a day without writing to them. They were the youngest of the Weasley family, who had less power than the other families of nobility, but they were very affable and would never dare betray her father.

"Yes, they are dear," her father answered, smiling at her, and she was immensely relieved. There would have been no way she would be able to stand the day watching croquet without Ginny at her side. At that moment, the castle's messenger ran inside the dining room, and her father looked up expectantly at the trembling man.

"King and Queen Granger, a letter from The Castle of Gaunt," the messenger addressed, carefully leaving the letter right next to her father's plate. Her father scratched his graying beard before picking up the letter, a habit that he appeared to have. He unsealed the letter with his butter knife and mouthed it to himself as he read, his hooked nose brushing against the sweet-smelling, fresh parchment; her mother even paid attention to him for once, her facial expression appearing eager. When he was finished reading, he gave a slight nod to her mother before eyeing Hermione.

"They're coming this week, my daughter," he proclaimed.

"Who? The Gaunts?" Hermione asked. Throughout her life, the Gaunt family had never visited her family's castle, and their culture and looks still remained a mystery to her. She did know that it was led by Lord Morfin and his sister, Lady Merope, only because he depended on her for an heir, which was her young adult son. People spread rumors that Lord Morfin and Lady Merope had an incestuous relationship together, producing Merope's son. Others knew the truth, which was that she instead had a relationship with a peasant man, who desired her only for her power. When she fell pregnant, the man left her alone with the child, and her brother took her to his castle where she birthed and raised him. Also, Lord Morfin was known as a heavy drinker, constantly falling drunk and ill. Anything at his disposal he will drink it all without a single regret. An air of mystery still lingered around the other two Gaunts, and Hermione presumed that the son was around twenty-one years old.

"Yes, my dear," he replied sullenly, shaking his head to himself out of shame, and Hermione creased her eyebrows.

"Tell her, my love," her mother requested, and Hermione stared at her father, waiting for immediate answers.

Her father cleared his throat multiple times before speaking again, "Well, you see Hermione, the Gaunts are not just coming here for a visit. They will be staying here for a while until, erm, your upcoming marriage."

Hermione's eyes widened in pure surprise, and she accidently spit some food out as she spluttered, "M-my what!?"  
"You see, for two years you have been betrothed to their son and sole heir," her father continued, moving his hands around nervously.

"Why didn't you tell me this before, father!?" Hermione yelled, tears rushing to her eyes, and she stood from her seat at the table in outrage.

"Dear, please, it happens to everyone," he attempted to reassure her.

Hermione began pacing around the table as she seethed, "I'm only sixteen years old, and I have never met this man! If it was Lord Ronald, it'd be fine since I've actually known him, and I would most likely know about the engagement beforehand! But two years! How could you do this to me! How!? It's bloody unfair! And I have no say in the matter at all apparently! How could you be so cruel?"

"Sit down, please Hermione," her father ordered her in a calm tone. He disliked yelling at Hermione, and he mostly let her do as she pleased, so what he was doing felt like the ultimate betrayal. Instead, Hermione glared at him, full of disapproval.

"A princess does as a princess is commanded by her King," her mother lectured, forcing eye contact with her. Hermione once again slumped into her seat, her throat feeling raw and unnatural.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but this engagement was to settle disputes between the Gaunts and ourselves. They would have revolted against us, causing war and death between our people," her father said as an attempt for an apology, sympathy lurking around in his muddy brown eyes.

"So that's all I am, a deal breaker!" Hermione moaned. She buried her head in her arms and wept on the table, even her mother did not care to correct her this time, for she felt pity as well towards her daughter.

Hermione wanted to escape and run away from her family. Feelings of hate filled her body, traveling up her blood stream, and she muttered to herself. She wanted to leave, venture the world, have everything at her disposal, and not be stuck in the castle for the rest of her natural born life. The table began shaking underneath her, the utensils clanged on the long table. Hermione lifted her head up and saw the shaking table, her mother screaming, her father stammering, and the servants attempting to hold the table down. When Hermione saw the sadness and fear in her mother's eyes, her feelings softened, and the table stopped moving all around. Hermione was stunned and could not stop staring at the table as well as everyone surrounding her.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry. I would have liked it to be different, but in life you don't always get what you desire. You are a princess, and you are supposed to serve your country," her father finally lectured after a few minutes, slight fear lacing his features. Hermione ignored his words and his beginning of an imminent lecture of the proper way to be a princess.

She then declared, "I'm leaving."

"No, Hermione, you shall not," he father answered, filling with his own anger.

"I never wanted to be a princess, please father. I'm sure you can find any peasant girl who would be happy to fill my shoes," she pleaded. "Let me free."

Her mother was speechless while her father was red in the face, "I am NOT abandoning my daughter in this dangerous and deceitful world! You need to be protected!"

"No I don't! I am fully capable of anything I want to do, father!"

"You are my daughter, my daughter only, and you do as I say! I am the King!" he yelled, slamming his beefy fist on the table, and the sound reverberated in the room. It declared that his decision was final and that there would be no more talk about the subject.

"Seeing as I've got no choice in the matter, as usual, I'll stay with you in this dreadful castle," Hermione wept. "May I be excused?"

"Stella! Take her to her bed chambers," he ordered, snapping his fingers at a startled Stella who then rushed to Hermione's side. Hermione whispered in Stella's ear after leaving the dining hall to take her to the library instead of her bed chambers. Stella always wished to please the royals, especially Hermione, so she did as she was told by her.

The library was near the dining hall, so it was a quick stroll. The doors to the library always amazed her as they were so magnificent. It touched the ceiling, and it was made of the richest wood and it was also surrounded with decorated stained glass windows. The glass represented past Kings and Queens, and at the top of the door there was a representation of Jesus, the Son of God, and a cross engraved on the wood below him. One would think that it would lead into Church, but the door that actually leads to the Church was much more beautiful.

She burst open the doors and smelled the crisp air radiating off of the books and tombs. There was nothing that Hermione loved more than books, stories, and philosophies. The only bright side of being a princess was the immense library, full of rich knowledge waiting to be absorbed by the reader. She soared through the library, her steps resonating through the vast room as the floors were made of the most expensive stone. She headed towards her private corner, with the bright red armchair and dark brown wood side table where she piled her books to read or reread.

She felt a thrill in disobeying her father, but feared for the rest of the week, where no doubt he would punish her severely. The betrothal made him high-strung, he had never yelled at her before that breakfast. She scanned through the pile of books she had left earlier and chose _The Prince, _by Machiavelli. She knew that it contains highly controversial views of leadership, and she felt that she would abhor the book, but everything deserves a chance.

She started reading the book and was already utterly repulsed by Machiavelli's ideas. The monarchy was something she already despised, but the way Machiavelli described how a ruler should be filled her with disgrace towards him. Her father did not act in those ways thankfully, but Hermione would prefer a government system where the people have a say instead of one sole ruler. Rousseu, another famous philosophe spoke of general will in his book, _The Social Contract_. It was everything Hermione wanted for England, but unfortunately she did not know if the monarchy would ever cease. Unfortunately, she would have to be the next Queen, along with her betrothed as the sole ruler.

She shut the tomb, she could no longer concentrate on Machiavelli's words, and she tossed it aside. Since she was a little girl she knew that as a princess she would not be able to choose her future husband, so she believed that her future husband would at least be Ron, son of the Weasley's, Lord Arthur and Lady Molly. For a very long time it was tradition that the Weasley's visited at least once a month for games and lunch, like the upcoming afternoon. Her father and mother were very fond of Ron, so she had always believed they would set up a marriage for her with him, not a man she had never met.

It was not the life she wanted, she wanted to be a peasant girl, striving to live, feel the feelings of real and complex people with barely any rights and be by their side fighting against the king instead of being his daughter. In that life, it was possible she would be able to find love on her own time with her own rules, if she wanted it or not. She wanted to share her opinions with the world instead of being holed up in the castle. She wanted to be charitable and help those in need. That way, she could die happily at least feeling she made an accomplishment in life.

She hated being a princess.

XXX

"Lovely day for some croquet!" her father boasted bombastically to the Weasley's. They had recently finished lunch, but Hermione had not been allowed to speak, nor had Lady Ginevra, for a young lady does not speak unless spoken too, a philosophy her mother had said throughout her childhood.

She walked through the courtyard with Lady Ginevra at her side, or as she preferred to call her, Ginny. One of her father's favorite pastimes, and it might have been Hermione's if she was permitted to participate in the activities. She, Ginny, her mother and Lady Molly were forced to sit, chat and watch the boys.

The servants who tended to the game would always make sure that her father would win, as he is the King. Even though Lord Arthur should be the one to win as he had some skill, since her father was not even any good at any sports he tried to play. No one wanted to get on his bad side though, so the servants never risked letting anyone else win the games. Hermione never listened to the servant's warnings, and relentlessly beat her father at checkers; he never cared but would laugh gaily at her boasting.

"Another dreadfully boring game," Ginny complained to Hermione as they sat down in the courtyard on a bench in front of her mother and Lady Molly.

"It is quite dreadful," Hermione concurred with a few clicks of her tongue.

"You know, Hermione, Ron's taken a fancy in you and is going to make a proposal to your parents. I thought you ought to know," Ginny gossiped with an eager smile. If she were to marry Ron, she and Ginny would theoretically be sisters.

"I would have preferred that," Hermione muttered, slumping her hand into her head.

"What do you mean?" Ginny carefully asked with a crease of her red eyebrows.

"Without telling me for the past two years, my parents had already set up a marriage for me," Hermione sighed, accepting defeat with the subject.

"Oh my, Lord," Ginny gasped. "Who?"

"I don't even know his first name, but the son of Lady Merope Gaunt."

"Oh, no!"

"No?"

"No!"

"No…"

"Yes!"

"Why!?"

"Well, you know that there have been many gatherings at my parents' castle with the rest of the nobles. The Gaunts have come to them every time. I know that you aren't allowed to attend, but I am since my parents have less of a hold on me," Ginny began with a sign. "I've met your betrothed, even though he is handsome and you will no doubt have beautiful babies…"

"Ginny!"

"I have my opinions," she reasoned and continued. "Anyway, he's horrible and nasty, seemingly unbearable to live with. He was so unctuous and kept muttering the word muggle under his breath. It must be such a nasty word I cannot even imagine! He's nothing but a phony and a nasty person. When he spoke to me it was as though he were trying to read my head and discover my weaknesses. I pity you, dear."

"Oh well, thanks so much to my parents, setting me up with seemingly the world's worst human being," Hermione griped. Ginny put a hand on Hermione's back to attempt a form of comfort and patted her back. "It's unfair. I know I have to marry, but can't I choose."

"I don't have the choice in the matter either. The Malfoy family has made a proposal, but my family has neither accepted nor declined."

"Their boy is a sniveling little rat," Hermione empathized.

"I know, I've unfortunately met him before. Have you ever noticed that he resembles a ferret?"

"Now that you mention it..."

"Exactly, but if not him, it might go to the Zabini family, where it appears Lady Zabini murdered all of her past husbands. That's not really a family I want to marry into," Ginny added.

"There are so many great options in nobility," Hermione acknowledged sarcastically, and Ginny laughed.

"You know who I wouldn't mind?"

"Who?"

"Knight Harry," she sighed. "Before you say anything, yes I haven't met him, but what I've read about him, well, he's a true hero."

"A hero you've never met," Hermione scolded but continued. "I have heard that he works here, but I've yet to encounter him, of course I never see anyone anywhere."

"Well, if you do encounter him, be sure to get him to write me," Ginny said with a sly wink.

"You're horrible." Hermione cackled with Ginny, but her mother tapped her on the shoulder, and silenced her laughter, making Hermione feel ashamed all over again. "Anyway, how are your other brothers?"

"Let's see, Bill married into French nobility, the Delacour family, Charlie's leading a siege in Romania, Percy's happily married to a peasant girl named Audrey, and Fred and George opened a joke shop in Yorkshire," Ginny answered.

"I'm happy for them," Hermione admitted, and Ginny gave her a sad smile in return, silence starting to loom over them.

"AND I WIN!" her father suddenly shouted to the air, lifting up his croquet mallet in victory, like always. She snorted and heard her mother moan in embarrassment from behind her.

The boys started some small talk, but Ron turned and made eye contact with Hermione and smiled at her. Hermione tentatively smiled back, and he began jogging towards her, his red hair bouncing on his head. Hermione heard Lady Molly getting emotional behind her, and because of Ginny's warning, she knew what was about to occur.

"Hermione," he greeted.

"Ron," she reciprocated with a slight nod, hoping to avoid discomfort.

"Erm, well," he started and then knelt on the ground on one knee, Ginny started trying to signal Ron to stop by pretending to cut her neck with her finger, Hermione opened her mouth to protest, and her mother started muttering profanities behind her, but Ron still pulled out a ring from his pocket and spoke, ignoring everyone's protests in front of him, "Hermione, will you marry me, with your father's permission of course?"

"No, Ron, I can't! I'm betrothed. I'm so sorry," Hermione eyes filled with tears as she saw Ron's heart rip into two right before her. She stood, muttered her goodbyes and condolences as she ran out of the courtyard, seeing Lady Molly weeping and her mother with pity on her saddened face, staring at her own stomach.

She ran so fast she could hardly keep track of her surroundings, she had to get out of there, and she had to breathe. Unfortunately her puke green, tight dress was not helping her. She closed her eyes as she ran, feeling the breeze, trying to calm herself down until she collided with someone in her way, knocking into the ground. Her eyes opened immediately, and she started apologizing profusely, until she saw how strange the man she banged into looked.

He was very tall but thin, with long white hair and a long beard reaching his waistline. His face was wrinkled, showing that he must have been very old and signaled to Hermione that he was very wise. His bright blue eyes shone of curiosity and wonder, and he wore half-moon spectacles over them. His robes were a rich midnight blue with pale yellow moons and stars inscribed onto the stitching.

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, still sitting on the bright green grass.

"Hello, Princess Hermione, we've been keeping tabs on you for quite some time and-," he started but paused in the middle of his sentence, aggravating Hermione even more.

"And what?" Hermione asked slowly, nervous but eager to hear what this man was saying. Was there more to her life than being trapped in a castle, bored to tears every day in the same consistent humdrum?

"I'll be seeing you in the near future," he answered with a twinkle in his eyes, giving her a warming half-grin. Hermione began protesting further, requesting answers as he reached into his robes and pulled out a thin, wooden stick, raised it in the air and disappeared with a single pop.

She backed away slowly, mystified at what she had just seen. She rubbed her eyes to make sure she had not fainted and was not dreaming about that man. She kept rubbing until she knew that she was awake and that it had actually happened.

Reality or imagination, she knew that everything was bound to change.

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**A/N I really hoped that you enjoy it! Just to say that it is a made up monarchy reign and that there was never actually a King Jefferson in England. **

**As I said, I hoped that you liked it and please leave a review. I'm going to try to get the next chapter up sometime next week. **

**By the way, I'm really proud of myself because the whole story is planned!**


	2. Chapter 2

** A/N: Finally I have the next chapter! Sorry for the delay, life got in the way I suppose. **

**Anyway, onwards with the chapter!:**

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Chapter Two

For a few days Hermione could not stand her endless stream of thoughts, which ran on an eddying whirlwind. She could not help but think about the man in midnight blue with the long beard as white as snow. She knew that she had to see him again, for answers, anything that he could provide her with at all, or even someone or something related to him and his mysteriousness. All she wanted was answers. There was also the possibility that he was a figment of her imagination, a fact that Mariella, her maid and closest friend, would not stop mentioning. Although, she knew in her heart that he was real in some sort of form.

There was a great chance that she would not get very far, due to her father's countless guards and servants surrounding the outside and the inside of the castle's thick, stone walls. A chance was all Hermione needed though. She needed something, anything at all to prove her theory of the man in midnight blue correct.

She plotted with Mariella during those few days. She wished to make an escape attempt to find the man in midnight blue. She had the feeling that she would fail in her quest, or that she would not get very far. But that was the way the cards were dealt, but the man in midnight blue haunted her, her logic, her dreams, and her life. It tortured her endlessly.

"Hermione, as I've said before, I'm not so sure about this," Mariella muttered and Hermione gave her a scoff in return. During the few days Mariella refused to stop reminding her of her doubts and fears. Hermione chose to ignore her; she was far superior in status to Mariella after all. It made Hermione uncomfortable to be thinking those thoughts, but it was true nonetheless.

"I have to take this risk, Mariella. I'll probably fail, but it's still worth a chance," Hermione responded in a crisp, annoyed tone.

"You're the princess, Hermione; it won't be long until they realize that you're missing."

"It's like you think I don't know that. As long as I try, I don't care if they catch me. Now hand over my new clothes," Hermione said in return, reaching her hands out towards Mariella.

Mariella sighed and placed the spare maids' clothes in Hermione's hands. Hermione smiled at her graciously and began taking off her dress, so she could slip on the garments. She messed her hair up a bit with her hands, releasing its inner animal, and she smirked at her reflection in her vanity's mirror. It was the way she really looked, no makeup, no fancy hair. Mariella studied Hermione's expression but quickly shrugged it off, thinking that it should be of no concern to her at all.

"I don't think the man in midnight blue is real. You must have simply banged into a banister, and your mind played tricks on you," Mariella said, attempting to assuage her into not leaving.

"But he is, Mariella, why can't you understand that simple fact!"

"No one can disappear in a blink of an eye!"  
"I know that it's ridiculous, out of the ordinary, but I know deep down that he is real. It's my fate, and I need to do this. I was not meant to just be a stupid, silly, washed up princess," Hermione persisted angrily.

"Yes, you were, Hermione. You are a princess, and any girl would take your place any day," Mariella acknowledged sadly, thinking of her own secret desires. She always coveted Hermione, her clothes, her jewelry, her status, but she had to put their friendship above everything else, Hermione was always relentlessly fair and a good person. Yet, that did not cease Mariella's feelings.

"They wouldn't if they knew what life here was actually like," Hermione insisted and shook her head, throwing her arms into the air. "I have enough of this argument, I'm leaving now."

Hermione shook her head as she walked towards the window. She opened the curtains and moved the glass aside. She thanked whoever designed the castle for the cascading fence decorated with roses perched right below her long window. Hermione started to climb out of the window, putting one foot on the fence below her.

"Then good luck, Hermione," Mariella said in defeat, and Hermione gave a slight wave as she brought her other foot onto the fence carefully. She stepped down again and let her hands take hold of the fence. Her heart raced as she noticed the long fall below her if she were to slip.

She climbed a bit more down the fence, taking a deep breath, but anxiety quickly filled her insides, reaching the toes of her feet. Her heart kept beating like a drum, faster and faster as she inched down the bright, white fence.

She imagined the man in midnight blue, which kept her in some sort of sound mind. She kept climbing down without paying attention to where her feet touched, and soon she took one wrong step on one of the many roses. It all happened so fast, she was forced to precipitate to the ground, and she tore a side of her dress in the process. She closed her eyes and accepted it until she heard:

"_Mobilicorpus!"_

In an instant she was no longer falling, and she forced her eyes open, immediately seeing that she was floating in midair. Her breathing grew heavy, and she started hyperventilating, squeezing her eyes shut once again.

"Don't worry it's alright, I'll let you down!" a man's voice called from below her. She slowly opened her eyes, turned her head and saw a knight in full armor, besides for his helmet. He had jet-black hair and was holding a wooden stick in his tight grip, just like the man in midnight blue had held.

Her body started easing downward as the man moved the stick in slow, gentle motions. She felt her body touch the grass softly, and she regained her ability to move on her own. She stood up, and the knight approached her slowly as thoughts raced in her head, doubting what she had just experienced. This knight was her proof of the man in midnight blue, and she wanted to scream out in pure happiness. They seemed to possess the same capabilities and the same wooden stick. Happiness bubbled inside her, and she laughed gaily to herself.

Screaming was heard above them, and Hermione saw Mariella perched at the window, fright laced inside her eyes.

"Aw shit," the knight groaned, and he pointed the stick at her. "_Confundus_."

Mariella's eyes blanked, and her expression became dazed. She shook her head and waved happily at Hermione, who could not believe what she had just seen, so she kept blinking her eyes and pinching herself on her arm.

"What was that?" she asked the knight confidently, pointing her finger at him. "What was all of this?"

The knight tensed up, and he pointed his wooden stick towards her and said, "_Stupefy!"_

Immediately, Hermione was sent flying backwards and was knocked out the second her head slammed onto the hard ground.

XXX

"Don't worry your highnesses, she will be fine, and she will recover most quickly. All she retained relating to injuries was a small bump, hardly noticeable," a strange man's voice announced as Hermione regained consciousness, and she believed that she was lying in her bed in her bed chambers and she felt the soft cushion under her fingertips. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw a man in a white cloak leaving her bed chambers, his hands gripped onto a strange, large, black case.

Her eyes roamed around her bed chambers, and her eyes latched onto the same knight from earlier that day, standing alone in a corner of her bed chambers with his bright, green eyes gleaming. Seeing him spiraled her to instantly remember her fall out of her window from before. She tilted her head to the side and recognized that her parents were standing right next to her bed.

Her mother observed Hermione moving on her bed, and she bent down and hugged her daughter securely, stroking her hair muttering, "Thank the Heavens."

Her father stood still next to the bed, contemplating his daughter. Hermione began feeling guilty under his discerning gaze, she knew that he loved her, but he was no doubt furious with her, if he had heard the story correctly from Mariella or the Knight. Under pressure, Mariella was known to instantly tell the truth, so sometimes it was hard to trust her.

"Repeat your story to me, Sir Harry," her father commanded, staring at the lone knight, who gazed back at him confidently.

Hermione dawned in realization; the knight that saved her was no ordinary knight. Sir Harry was a legend, regaled by so many people every day, retelling his story to their friends, children, and those in other countries. There's probably no one in England, or perhaps all of Europe, who has not heard of him or his story. What amazed Hermione more was how young Sir Harry appeared to be to her. She surmised that from his looks he was around twenty years old. Before, she had imagined him proud and tall, with a long beard, instead he was average height, lanky, with messy hair and only slight stubble. His eyes were his most compelling feature though; every time she looked at him her own eyes were immediately drawn to them. She sat up in her bed, eager to listen to Sir Harry's words, words that seeped out of a legend's mouth.

"My Lord, I was doing my normal patrols when I noticed that your daughter was climbing out of her bed chamber's window, and I rushed towards her. Then she slipped, banged her head on the side of the castle's wall, and I caught her before she slammed onto the ground, but she was already knocked unconscious because of the blow to the head she had already received," he quickly replied with a bow of his head. Hermione gave him a slight glare, yet she ran her hand over her head, feeling a slight bump at the back of it. It made her wonder if her memories were just that of a simple, but realistic dream.

"I see," her father replied, and he began pacing, pondering to himself. "Now, I will bestow the duty of watching my daughter to you until her marriage commences."

Sir Harry gave a small bow to her father, but Hermione yelled out, "Father! That is entirely ridiculous!"

"You know exactly why I'm doing this, Hermione," he snapped, and her mother gave her a look of condolence. Hermione blankly stared at her father, her eyes wetting with unwanted tears. Her trust with her father had been broken. She was about to speak again when a man burst inside the room, an urgent expression lining his features.

"My King, my Queen, there is a crucial matter awaiting you in the throne room," he announced to them. They nodded to each other and started to leave the room. Her father paused before leaving and made sure that Sir Harry knew to watch over Hermione.

Once the door was shut, and it was only Hermione and Sir Harry left in the room, Hermione removed her covers, noting that she was only wearing undergarments, which consisted of her corset and underskirts, and she walked straight up to him. She jabbed him on his chest, and he raised his hands in defense, laughing at her.

"You lied straight to my father's face," she accused.

Harry looked around him and pressed a finger to her lips, speaking in a soft whisper, "I had to for the same reason I had to make you unconscious."

"So it was real," Hermione said breathlessly in pure amazement. Her life was changing so fast she was filled with excitement. The day's events were proof that her life was not confined to simply being a princess. First there was the man in midnight blue, now Sir Harry, who seemed to possess the same abilities as the man in midnight blue.

"Yes, but you are not allowed to speak of it to anyone," Sir Harry warned. "It's confidential, and your father would kill people like us for it."

"Like us?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione questioned further, desperate to know more answers. It was practically confirmation that she was not a normal human, besides for the fact that she is already a princess.

"I can't tell you," he answered earnestly; sadness shown through his bright, green eyes that captured her.

"Why not? I need to know," Hermione persisted, seizing Sir Harry's hands in her tight grip.

"You'll figure it all out eventually, I promise you that," he responded, forcing his hands out of her grip.

"I see." Hermione stepped away from the knight and sat down in a nearby chair. He studied her and approached her, sitting in an opposite seat from her. Hermione took a book that was close to her and hid her face with it. She could not concentrate on it, and she did not even know what book she had grabbed. Her thoughts focused on everything Sir Harry had just revealed.

Her life was going to be different from now on.

She smirked to herself, put the book aside and stood up from her seat. She then walked towards her closet that was filled with assorted dresses. Her fingers traced over her silly, silky dresses, finally selecting one that was not so outrageous looking. She grabbed it and threw it on over her head and undergarments, Sir Harry's eyes lingering on her.

She closed it at its seams and took a slow breath. She averted her eyes to Sir Harry and suggested, "Would you like to play some checkers?"

"Checkers?" he questioned with his eyebrows creased.

"You've never heard of checkers?" Sir Harry shook his head slightly with an embarrassed smile. "Well, then you've had a deprived childhood, haven't you?"

"I suppose I have, I wasn't raised by the best people," Sir Harry admitted glumly.

"I used to play with my father all the time when I was little, so let me teach you how," Hermione offered with an encouraging smile.

Sir Harry uttered a happy sigh, and gave a curt nod of his head. Hermione opened a second closet that stored many of her personal belongings and pulled out a checker board and a bag full of checker pieces. She headed back towards where Sir Harry was seated and placed it on the table in front of him, and she sat in the opposite seat.

"Now simply, checkers is played with two players, and we both begin with twelve colored discs. Mine are the red ones and yours are the black ones," Hermione began, indicating the pieces she then laid out on the checkerboard. She started going over the basic rules of the game for Sir Harry. He asked her a few times to repeat some rules, and she instructed him as they played together as he inquired more from her about the rules and if he were allowed to do certain moves.

Hermione is not a person who easily succumbs to losing, so she did not let Sir Harry win any of the games they played together, even the first one to allow him some confidence that he can play. Losing did not make him any happier, so he immediately suggested playing a second round. Again, she swiped the board, draining Sir Harry's hope of ever winning against her, but he was still eager to play another round, so they kept playing, but Sir Harry kept on losing to her.

Throughout the games they played Hermione tried to assuage him into revealing details of how he saved her, even bargaining to give him a win, but he denied, wishing to win fairly instead, laughing at her attempts.

During their seventh round Hermione remarked to him, "Winning is almost like magic isn't it."

"M-magic?" Sir Harry stuttered out of shock, staring at the board, pretending he had not become flustered.

"Yes, magic don't you think. Like how you saved me from falling out of the window, it was practically unbelievable how I floated in midair, don't you think," Hermione stated, urging him to speak to her about it further.

"Quite, but I'll delve into details about that later, it is not of concern now," Sir Harry answered, shaking away any nervousness.

"Indeed you will," Hermione warned as she let her red piece be crowned King, a piece more powerful than the rest, and she glared at Sir Harry, who took his next turn, capturing one of her pieces with his black one.

"Or perhaps I'm not the one to tell you," Sir Harry informed carefully as he took her red piece off of the board.

"Perhaps, but what about the man in midnight blue?" she asked zealously, inching herself closer to him, gripping her fingers on the table.

"What?"

"The man in midnight blue, with a long, white beard, you have to know!" Hermione persisted as she took her turn, her King wiping out many of his black pieces, and he grimaced as she did so, plucking each of them off of the board.

"I'm sorry," Sir Harry straight through his teeth, but Hermione could not erase the feeling that he was lying to her. She was about to concur when her bed chamber door was instantly flung open to both of their surprise. Both of them turned towards the door and they saw a frazzled looking man at the entrance, a piece of paper dangling on his palm.

"Princess Hermione!" the man shouted, and she realized that it was one of the castle's many messengers, who then gave her a small bow. She nodded her head to prove that it was her he was speaking to.

"Yes, sir, what do you wish to tell me?" she inquired, her eyebrow creased.

"They're here!" he proclaimed.

"Who's here?" she queried, her facial expression showing concern.

"Lord and Lady Gaunt with their son have arrived at the castle, and are currently riding up the path."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

It was all happening too soon.

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**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please review to tell me what you thought. **

**Yes, I know cliffhanger, but I do hope to get the next chapter up in about a week or so!**

**Also you'll learn more why Harry's a legend in future chapters, just in case you were left wondering. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much to my lovely reviewers, and finally here's the next chapter**

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Chapter Three

Before she knew it, Sir Harry had taken her out of her bed chambers, and they were standing with her parents on the front steps of the castle, staring at the approaching black carriage that was being escorted by two elegant black horses trotting carefully up the pathway. It came to a halt, and who was obviously the footman exited the carriage first, waiting to assist his masters.

Who she assumed was Lord Morfin stepped out, landing on the footman's hand all the while chomping on an oversized turkey leg, the sauce staining his garish clothing. He was very rotund, with a grey goatee and a silly looking hat perched on the top of his head. Hermione started snickering covertly, but her mother gave her a small slap on her arm to force her to stop. Then out walked Lady Merope delicately. She appeared sullen with her head bowed down as she tiptoed across. Her eyes kept dancing around in her head, and Hermione's mother seemed affronted by the woman's appearance, but she attempted to hold her feelings inside, like any proper queen would.

Hermione closed her eyes for a slight moment, knowing that the next person to leave the carriage would ultimately help ruin her livelihood. She remembered Ginny's warnings of how cruel this man appeared to be, letting her mind run in spirals, predicting a cold future. Ignoring the footman, he left the carriage, and Hermione stared at him. There was no doubt he was handsome, and Hermione surmised that he had many suitors back home based on his looks alone. His hair was silky and black, with a curly poof hovering over his forehead. His eyes were of the darkest brown, so dark she almost believed they were black as coal, and his skin was close to deathly pale, but oddly is suited him. She glanced over at Lady Merope, wondering how she could have birthed such a beautiful person.

The three Gaunts walked up the stairs with their servants scurrying behind them, and Lord Morfin opened his arms, bounding towards her father, and greeted him, "King Jefferson! My Lord! How long has it been!?"

He enwrapped her father in a tight hug, which her father reluctantly returned, and then Lord Morfin hugged her mother, planting many sloppy kisses on her cheeks, making her mother grimace.

Then he came up to Hermione and took her by the hands, saying, "Ah, Hermione, last I saw you, well… I don't even remember!"

He closed her arms around her, and planted an unwelcomed kiss on her cheek, his breath smelling of alcohol, and Hermione was disgusted, wishing for him not to come near her again. Lady Merope stood next to her son, not speaking, her father greeted her, but she only gave a curt wave. Her betrothed parted from his mother and walked towards her father.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my King," he said in a baritone voice, reaching his hand out to shake.

Her father took his hand and shook it. "Nice firm handshake, that's a good sign of a good man."

"Thank you, my King. I'm sure you could have chosen better for your daughter though," he said, and Hermione rolled her eyes, thinking '_Ron, for one thing.'_

"Don't say that, my boy," her father said, giving her betrothed a few pats on his back, finally leading him inside the castle. Hermione and her mother followed, and Lord Morfin ran up to her father, starting a boisterous conversation as Lady Merope tiptoed behind Hermione and her mother. Hermione slowed down and walked in pace with Sir Harry, who had started following them into the castle with the other servants and guards.

"Help me," she muttered to him desperately.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but you'll survive this encounter," he encouraged in his humored whisper. "I might be able to get you out of this castle soon."

"What do you mean by that?" she questioned eagerly.

"I'll have to get permission though," he murmured back.

"Permission? From whom?"

"I can't say as of yet," he admitted. "You'll know eventually."

"Fine," she griped, and she caught up to her mother, who was attempting a conversation with Lady Merope. Finally, they entered the banquet hall. Her father began instructing everyone where to sit, and her newly betrothed was seated across from her, his whole life, name, everything remaining a mystery to her.

"Before I begin my prayers," her father announced, "I'd like to thank the Gaunt family for coming in today, and bless my daughter's upcoming marriage to their son, Young Lord Tom Gaunt."

'_Tom,' _Hermione thought, believing it to be such a plain name, and as she stared at him she noticed his lips had grimaced when her father uttered the name, thinking that he must also believe that it is unbelievably subtle for a person of nobility's son. Hermione listened to her father, did the sign of the cross, and waited until he was done saying the prayers.

The servants then brought over the luncheon platters, and for the first time in a very long time, Hermione's plate was identical to everyone else's. She presumed that her father wished to make an impression, but Hermione did not care, she was finally able to eat good, delicious food, instead of that 'healthy' garbage that she was served every day. Lord Morfin began speaking jovially with her father, and she glanced at Tom, noting that he was seated with apparent perfect posture.

'_Was there anything that wasn't perfect about him?' _she thought, but immediately threw that away as she reminded herself that she had just met him, she knew next to nothing about him.

She ate her food slowly, savoring the flavor on her taste buds and did not particularly listen to everyone else's conversation. Lady Merope, seated next to her son, ate in extremely small bites, barely getting through her prime rib. Her brother, Lord Morfin, on the other hand had finished his turkey leg and was almost done with his prime rib and vegetables, but some of the food was not eaten, but still on his chubby cheeks and his clothes.

Lord Morfin began speaking of propositions to tax the peasant people more. His words that were spoken through a full mouth disgusted her, and she could not help but speak up, "That's incredibly crass. The peasants live on every penny they can earn. If anything, tax the nobles more. They possess more money, and it would not hurt them in the slightest if they paid more, while it would hurt the peasants, leaving them with nothing and forcing them to starve."

Everyone stared at her in surprise; even some of the servants appeared startled. Lady Merope squeaked, "Children should be seen and not heard!"

"I'm not a child," Hermione snapped, glaring at her future mother-in-law, and her grip on her fork grew tighter.

"Be polite," her mother instructed. Hermione sighed and instantly wanted to leave the room or rather have the Gaunts leave.

It was quiet for a few minutes until Tom spoke up, "The peasants are no longer frightened by the threat of De'Volmort for a few years now, so that there's no possibility that they'd agree to an increase on the tariffs. There would be revolts, so there is no sense backing up my uncle's instruction."

"You are fully right, my boy, and you seem to be very informed on De'Volmort and his effects on the community," her father commented.

"Why yes, he is a very miraculous creature, able to paralyze people with one look in their eyes. It's a shame he was defeated, more research could have been done on him," Tom continued, and his eyes connected with hers for one second.

"That's preposterous," Hermione commented. "That would risk countless lives. Where do you even believe you'd store the goddamn dragon? I believe in putting lives before science." Tom stared at her, his lip twitching a bit, and her mother attempted to shush her. Then her father interrupted the silence.

"I agree with my daughter. It was a fantastic accomplishment done by one of my knights here. Harry!" He ushered over Sir Harry, who then trudged next to her father. "This boy did it himself, at age seventeen!"

"I see," Tom remarked, and Sir Harry and Tom glared at each other before Tom averted his gaze elsewhere. Harry's eyes still remained on him though, in a fierce stare.

"Yes, if I hadn't done so, the people I love, and the people you love would be dead," Sir Harry retorted. Hermione studied Tom and noted that his lips twitched slightly again, and he turned back to his food, ignoring Sir Harry, who was then grabbed by the arm by another servant and led back to where he was standing before.

"As you see, my boy, De'Volmort was a danger to society, and those you love could very well be dead if De'Volmort was still flying around," her father mentioned.

"I see, my King," Tom answered through gritted teeth.

Silence grew over them again, and her mother began nudging her father in the arm, he glanced at her, and she began whispering in his ear. "Ah, yes! Lord Morfin, Lady Merope, we must schedule a proper date for the wedding."

"It doesn't matter to me at all," Lord Morfin uttered through the crumbs in his mouth, and Lady Merope squeaked in agreement.

"Then how about a month's time," her mother suggested. "I believe that it's plenty of time as preparations still have to be made."

Hermione groaned, and she began feeling sick in her stomach as her heart started pounding fiercely in her chest. She tried to concentrate on her food, her food alone, but the conversation she tried to mute out keep entering her eardrums. All she could listen to was her mother's plans for wedding themes, colors, and even the building of a brand new castle.

The dining table began shaking vehemently, and everyone else backed away from the table, except for her betrothed. He stared at her, and she stared at him in return, seeing a small, half-smile gracing his chiseled features.

"What is this?" Lord Morfin demanded. Sickness threatened to overwhelm Hermione. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.

All eyes stared at her, her mother's eyes looking angry, before Hermione grumbled, "Excuse me."

She left the room in a hurry for the nearest powder room, hearing the table come to a halt behind her. She detested how wide and long the hallways in the castle were as she covered her mouth with her hand. When she finally reached the powder room, she threw the door open, went inside and shut it close. She kneeled down in front of the disposal bin, waiting for what felt like vomit to finally leave her system, but the sickness soon subsided. She ran her hands over her face, pulling at some strands of hair as tears threatened to escape her watery brown eyes. They slid down her cheeks, and she began to weep, something she had not allowed herself to do before she learned of the betrothal. She pulled her legs into her stomach and let herself cry. She would never be free.

Her whole life, she never had a choice in anything that she did. Whenever she did something wrong, her mother was always there to tell her to always be perfect, but that just was not who she was. The thing she desired most of all was to leave the castle, live the peasant life, be free to be herself, and maybe even have people read her story one day instead of reading about the lives of others who had achieved so much.

There was little hope for the time she would become queen. She hoped to change the lives of many, but there was still the immense possibility that her marriage would ruin it all. Even as queen, she would not be free.

One long knock thudded on the wooden door, but Hermione choose not to answer it, instead quieting her sniffles. The knocks persisted and grew louder, and Hermione groaned to alert the person of her presence. The door cracked open, and a girl's head peaked in, it was Stella, one of the castle's many maids.

"Miz," Stella said. "You mum's worred."

"So, I don't get a single minute to myself," Hermione sniffled, wiping some tears off of her face as she stood up again.

"Sowry, Miz," Stella mumbled as she took Hermione's hand, leading her away from the powder room. They were quiet on the way back to the dining hall, and Hermione was glad for it because Stella's speech impediment annoyed her sometimes. She took in deep breaths to get rid of the remainder of unwarranted tears and any resemblance to sadness.

Soon they were back in the dining room, and Stella released her hand. Hermione's parents were standing in the room as some of the servants examined the dining table. The food was cleared off of it, and the Gaunts were now nowhere to be seen. Her father's normally proud head was slightly bowed down, and her mother's hands were clasped firmly together. Her father lifted up a hand and waved Stella away, so she scurried out of the room, her wispy brown bun bobbing behind her, leaving Hermione wanting to run away with her.

"You embarrassed me, Hermione," her father informed.

"You were completely disrespectful throughout the whole dinner. I know you don't want to get married, but you can ruin your chances here with them. This marriage is to maintain the peace in England," her mother lectured, her finger pointed at Hermione.

"Exactly! I'm just a peace negotiator, and you never even asked me how I felt about this marriage," Hermione yelled.

"We know how you feel about this, but you have no choice in the matter. And after you're married we can always take precautions," her father told her in a careful whisper, to avoid the servants hearing him, and then he ran his finger over his neck. Hermione's eyes grew wide at the sight, immediately imagining her betrothed's head falling off of his body, his body then collapsing to the ground with blood spluttering around, staining her.

"You can't mean, you can't," Hermione sputtered.

"I do, Hermione, it can be proven as an accident," her father spoke, no trace of fear or insecurity found anywhere.

"No, now that is something that I will never do, I assure you," she claimed, a tone of spitefulness tinged in her voice. She gripped her hands at her sides, balling them into fists as anger and hate towards her parents filled her. The room began shaking violently, and all of them were flung to the floor.

"GHOSTS!" a male servant shrieked as he was gripping for dear life on the dining table.

"Be quiet!" her father ordered, and the servant sealed his lips tightly. Her mother was screaming as the room kept shaking. Hermione saw the poor servants being terrorized, and her feelings calmed. Slowly, the room ceased its incessant shaking, and those around her let out sighs of relief. Hermione gazed at the entryway and saw a flash of black hair dash away.

Around her the servants were breathing deeply in order to calm their nerves, her mother appeared frazzled as she adjusted her tiara, an item which Hermione chose to never wear, and her father was once again standing proud, trying to make it so that nothing had ever happened, though she could still see the fear laced in his eyes.

"You see everyone, just our imagination, there are no ghosts," her father proclaimed, glaring at the servants, sending them a warning.

Her mother turned and muttered something in her father's ear, and he gave her a look of astonishment in return. Hermione desperately wished to know what they were talking about, and then her stomach grumbled. She realized she had not ended up eating very much of the delicious food. Her parents were distracted, and Hermione had the temptation to sneak out of the room.

"Mother."

"Yes, dear," her mother sighed, her hand pressed against her cheek.

"Where are the Gaunts currently?" Hermione asked carefully, looking back towards the entryway, where she had seen the flash of blackness.

"In their guest bed chambers unpacking their belongings, but they have free roam of the castle, so they could be anywhere," her mother answered, and then she placed her hand over her mouth and muttered, "I'm going to be sick."

Her mother ran out of the room, and her father glared furiously at the servants. "What was in that food!"

Her father being distracted by the servants gave Hermione the opportunity to sweep out of the room, as she was intent on finding the black hair she had seen. She headed down in the direction it had gone, peaking down each corridor she came across. A pop resounded from behind her, and a chill crawled up her spine, instantly remembering the man in midnight blue, her hopes soaring indefinitely. She quickly turned around, but no one was there, and her heart sank.

She leaned her body against the wall and slid down, bundling her legs against her stomach. A lump grew in her throat once more, and small tears slid down her face. She needed a distraction, and she thought of the only consolation this castle contained. The library.

She stood up once more, with tears still running across her face. She wiped them away, but they kept returning on her walk. When she finally reached the familiar doors, she sighed in relief. She quickly ran to her personal corner in the library, her normal stack of books gone. She sighed and went to the bookshelves to find some new books to read.

She scanned through the bookshelves, taking in the books' scent, helping the tears to disappear. Most of the books she had read already, but she craved something new, something she had yet to taste.

She noted a thick bounded book with writing in script on the side depicting, _Brothers Grimm: Fairytales. _She felt that it was a children's book, but everything was worth a chance. So she grabbed it, letting her fingers touch the edge of the pages, providing her with a simple kind of comfort. She could easily escape in a book by reading only one word of it, making her feel like she evaporated away from her normal life. It was the solace she desired in her real life, for the stories to jump off of the pages and absorb her inside the book where she could live forever in a fairytale.

Sighing in small happiness, she then was instantly grabbed at her shoulder and turned around, being pressed against the bookshelf, close to knocking it backwards. Her eyes met with the dark ones of her betrothed.

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, wishing that whatever he was going to do to her, he would get it over with already.

Instead he gave her a half-smile and said, "I sense magic in you, _princess_."

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**A/N:** **Yes I did it again, cliffhanger, but that's just what I do. Please leave a review and story alert! **

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in the update! I know that this chapter is shorter than the other three, but I still hope you guys like it. I'm also going to try to get the next chapter up by the next week. Please review!**

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**Chapter Four**

She sighed and ran her fingers through her blonde hair, inhaling through her nose deeply as she relaxed her entire body. She rolled her head to the side, feeling her neck cracking and releasing the furrowed tension within each movement. She lifted her wand again as she felt her magic come alive once more, filling with its familiar energy and pure happiness. Again, she concentrated her mind on the wardrobe in front of her as the magic coursed through her veins.

"Confringo!"

Just as she uttered the spell the wardrobe combusted into bright, red flames, and she sighed contentedly, listening intently to the roar of the fire, allowing the warmth to radiate throughout the room.

Then the door to the classroom was sprung open, and she groaned quietly as she tilted her head behind her, seeing another student, Lee Jordan, at the door.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, Mariella!" he complained.

She rolled her eyes and asked, "What is it now, Lee?'

"Our dear Professor Dumbledore asked me to retrieve you and for you to come to his office immediately. Password's black licorice, and I'd put that fire out," he answered with a smirk before he snuck out of the room.

Mariella flicked her wand, and the wardrobe was restored to its normal state. She left the room with another groan. What more could that man possibly ask from her? Yes, her mother was high in standing in the Order of the Phoenix, but that did not mean that Mariella was. Constantly he would ask her to keep surveillance over specific students who could possibly have insight on the Death Eaters' plans. Yet, in her mind, what could children possibly know? But she knew that it would not be proper for the Headmaster to stalk young students in the corridors, even though the thought provoked amusing imagery in her mind.

The thought of the Death Eaters disgusted her, bringing the taste of vomit to her tongue. It was a group who brought torture, destruction and death, a group who burned her father alive for standing against them and their bigoted beliefs, and that thought would never cease to bring tears to her eyes. She prayed for vengeance against them and their mysterious leader. She and many others were forced to refer to him as You-Know-Who, for he would not reveal his name, and no one knew why. Everyone, besides for Albus Dumbledore feared him, and she knew that if his name was revealed, people would still utter You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But, the only thing she cared about is if he would finally die soon.

The mysterious leader had been causing torture for five years after an eighteen year "break". His main target appeared to be eliminating the muggle race, persecuting muggle-borns, and anyone else who opposed him, which he(or possibly she) would refer to as Blood Traitors. That was the Order of the Phoenix, which was founded by Albus Dumbledore himself. Her parents had joined thirty years ago, but once he came back into his reign of terror, her father was burned alive, and her mother was thrown into a depression, thus Mariella swore vengeance.

For what was life without the people you love to share it with?

A life full of anger.

Dumbledore's gargoyle was perched on the wall. Mariella muttered the password, ignoring the other students walking behind her, and the gargoyle shifted its position, revealing the staircase to Dumbledore's office. She climbed the curved stairs and rapped on his door.

"Come in," she heard him beckon before she opened the door.

Professor Dumbledore smiled at her from his seat at the desk and waved her forward.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster."

"Yes, Miss McKinnon, come, sit. More importantly, would you care for a licorice?" he asked with a smile and a twinkle in his bright, blue eyes, offering her a bowl of which was full of some black looking gunk.

"That's not necessary, Professor," she politely declined, waiting for him to speak once more.

"Very well, then I may as well get to the point," he began. "As you clearly know, you are graduating soon, and I am sure you wish to secure a spot in the Order."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, right after graduation, I have the perfect way for you to do so."

"I'm interested," Mariella commented with a small smirk.

Professor Dumbledore smiled before he continued. "I'm sure that you know of Muggle politics and that in England they have a monarchy ruled by King Jefferson, who has a wife named Margaret and one lone daughter, the princess, named Hermione."

"What do they have to do with the Order, they're muggles, aren't they?" Mariella questioned.

"Unknown to many, their daughter isn't as she's a muggle-born, which the Ministry had discovered when she had turned eleven years old, for there is a highly intricate system to identify the muggle-borns. But as you very well know we cannot simply extract the princess and educate her here. The muggles, including her parents, would be in uproar if the princess suddenly disappeared. Or her parents, who advocate against witchcraft, could have her hung or inform their whole civilization, which would spark them into getting more muggles and wizards hung on the muggle gallows."

"But why does this matter now, Professor? What's it got to do with the Order?"

"I'm sure you remember the name, Tom Gaunt."

_XXX_

_One Year Later_

"Filthy, little mudblood," Hermione's betrothed remarked as he pushed some of her bushy hair behind her ear, his breath tickling her face. "Or am I mistaken?"

Hermione glared at him blankly, befuddled by that word…mudblood. The term was disturbing, and it perplexed her more merely for the fact that she had never heard of it… mudblood. His obsidian eyes pierced into hers as he awaited an answer. She could barely contain herself. He had said he sensed magic in her! It was preposterous, but it explained everything: the man in midnight blue, Sir Harry saving her miraculously, the shaking tables from earlier, and other events that had occurred throughout her lonesome childhood. She wanted to burst into tears of joy and hug the cold man for revealing the answer she had been eagerly waiting for.

"I-I don't," she could barely stutter out, a grin attempting to form.

His grip on her shoulders tightened, his nails seemingly trying to cut through her thin, silk dress as his glare turned from uncaring to vicious. "Mudblood it is then."

"But I don't-," Hermione tried to say, but he placed his long, pale finger over her lips to shush her.

"Know anything about your world, or rather anything about yourself," he finished for her. Hermione made no reaction, but waited for him to continue instead. "Tell me, princess, have things happened to you that you cannot explain, for instance having the entire dining hall start shaking or people being thrown around a room spastically."

Hermione eyes widened, and she uttered, "I knew it was you there."

He let out a chuckle and began tracing a circle on her pointed shoulder. "It's always good to keep an eye out, princess."

"What do you want?" Hermione snapped, throwing his arm down, growing sick from his touch that would not stay away.

"No need to get snippy, princess. Or is this how you normally behave? Quite unladylike," he teased, slipping away from her, facing away, his black cloak dancing behind him.

"What's a mudblood?" Hermione demanded, and she heard him snicker.

"This proves that you are one," he answered, seating himself on her red armchair. His long, pale fingers began stroking the pile of books next to him. His lips formed somewhat of a half-smile as he muttered the titles of the books to himself. "_The Social Contract_ by John Locke, an interesting choice."

"How so?" she asked, her eyebrows creasing as she maneuvered herself away from the bookshelf.

"It is not a belief that I would expect a princess to have," he commented. "I'd expect you to be influenced more by other writers, perhaps those like Machiavelli, not Diderot, Rousseau and Montesquieu, which you have here, or rather none at all as I figured that your servants read for you."

"Machiavelli is a dreadful man with irrational, nonsensical beliefs. I could barely get through _The Prince_ without feeling vomit in my mouth," Hermione retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And believe me when I say this that I am not an idiot or a fool, and I prefer doing things for myself, another reason why I do not want to marry you for one thing."

Her betrothed smirked at her, standing and walking towards her ever so slowly with _The Social Contract_ gripped in his hands. She began stepping backwards, soon feeling the bookshelf behind her once again, and mentally cursed, wishing for an escape from the dreadful man.

He was now merely an inch away from her, and he lifted The Social Contract, bringing it by Hermione's head, but instead he slipped it in between two books on the shelf.

"No more convoluted beliefs, especially ones that emulate from muggles," her betrothed requested.

"No," Hermione scoffed. "What gives you the authority to tell me what to do?"

"I'm sure you know that we will be married in the near future," he drawled, "and trust me, I'd rather not marry you either, but as you will unfortunately be my wife, I'm afraid you will have to listen to me for now on, princess."

"Unfortunately? It was your family who proposed the idea of marriage, and I will not listen to a goddamn word you say," Hermione nearly laughed.

"It is only because I want to be in control of the kingdom, not because I want you in my bed, princess. Though you are better than a muggle would have been, so you were quite the surprise, princess. I had thought you would be a muggle," he sneered.

"What in the world are mudbloods and muggles?" Hermione asked, throwing her hands at her side, landing on her hips.

"You may as well know, considering that you are one. A mudblood is a child who was born to muggle parents, but possesses magical capabilities. A muggle is a non-magical person," he answered.

"So you are saying that I'm a mudblood?" Hermione asked, the word feeling wrong and distasteful on her tongue, but was almost smiling of pure joy. Yet, she concealed emotions from her betrothed by pressing her thin lips together; he did not deserve seeing her like this.

"What part of your insipid little brain did not understand that?" He froze in his steps, staring at her with his dark eyes, making her feel as though he was digging inside of her soul.

"But-," she began saying, but was cut off once more.

"But what?"

"I need more of an explanation," she begged, her eyes draining of its happiness.

"What more is there to tell exactly?" he asked.

"How this is possible, or rather how I use this magic. And how did you know I'm magical, as you say?" Hermione suggested.

"Your magic is so strong, untainted, that I can feel it within your veins from a mile away," he answered as he began stroking the sleeve of her dress.

"Don't touch me," Hermione snapped, slapping his hand away from her arm.

"I can do as I wish with what's mine," he retorted.

"Not yours yet," she retaliated.

His dark eyes gazed into hers, a glare full of anger. The man wanted to curse her, to hurt her, and she had no doubt that he could so if he wished. His hand gripped once more on her shoulder, pressing into her skin harder. She winced under the pain as his hands clamped down, tighter and tighter.

"Leave her alone," a voice commanded. Immediately, her betrothed's hand left her shoulder, slapping down against his thigh. Hermione peered around and saw Sir Harry glaring at her betrothed viciously.

"Sir Harry," he addressed with a mocking bow.

"Lord Gaunt," Sir Harry reciprocated with gritted teeth. "I'm sure that Princess Hermione would like you to leave."

"Very well," her betrothed sneered. "I wouldn't wish to intrude, and I have other things to attend to as a matter of fact. Until later, princess."

He backed away from the shelf, pushing past Sir Harry, his black cloak swooping behind him as he glided out of the library.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Sir Harry asked.

"I'm fine physically," she responded. "But I think that you have been lying to me. He told me that I'm-."

"You're what?" Sir Harry asked nervously, his fingers drumming on his armored thigh.

"Magical," she said flatly, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

"This isn't the place," Sir Harry mumbled.

"Then what is! I mean it is the only explanation isn't it! It even explains you and your sudden presence! The man in midnight blue! Everything! Why didn't you tell me!?" Hermione yelled, her heart began beating faster as she began wondering if she what had just happened was merely a hallucination, that it was just a perplexed Sir Harry there the whole time. There was no such thing as magic or mudbloods, it was just her mind playing tricks on her, wasn't it? But after everything, Hermione knew that that once believeable possibility was not true anymore.

Yet she knew that if it was all true, she wanted to scream. Her life was full of secrets, secrets referring to her own life. First the betrothal and then magic! For Godsake magic!

"I promise to explain everything if you just give me some time," Sir Harry begged.

"Fine!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands recklessly in the air.

She pushed past Sir Harry and stormed out of the library, without a destination in mind. Suddenly she felt tears trickling down her face, and she wiped them away as she walked, she couldn't be crying again, but the tears kept coming and time was still ticking.

Her heart began thudding loudly, until Hermione could hear it echoing throughout her body. Her fingers and toes were tickling. She heard something traveling through her veins, continuously growing louder until it was the only thing that Hermione could hear. Sparks shot out of Hermione's fingers, and she was thrown back against the wall.

Her hearing returned to normal, and she began gasping, staring at her fingers.

And she knew.

Slowly, she pushed herself off of the floor, panting wildly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure marching through the halls towards her.

"Oi, Hermione!" the girl called, and it was Mariella. Hermione prayed that Mariella had not seen what she had just done.

"Y-yes, Mariella," Hermione stuttered, regaining her balance.

"You're coming with me," Mariella ordered.

"What for?" Hermione questioned.

"To get ready for the new hospital opening ceremony, silly." Mariella laughed and ushered Hermione along.

Hermione sighed, wiping a few excess tears off of her face; a princess' duties were never over, yet she was never allowed to do any duties for herself.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review, it would mean so much to me to know what you guys think. And, I will do my best to get the next chapter up as soon as possible (hopefully sometime next week!) Again, thank you!**


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